


Queen of Love and Beauty

by sternflotte



Series: winter is coming [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Not tagging any ships because tbh i ship neither robert/lya nor rhaegar/lya, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Robert's Rebellion, Tourney at Harrenhal, so no tag it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflotte/pseuds/sternflotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyanna doesn't even pay attention when her life changes forever. In retrospect it would have probably not even mattered if she had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Love and Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Just my take on the Tourney at Harrenhal in Lyanna PoV. My first work i am posting on ao3, so be kind? please R&R.

Lyanna doesn't even pay attention as the moment that changes her life forever occurs. In retrospect it would have probably not even mattered if she had. 

She jokes around with Brandon, both giggling about something she won't remember later when the crowds around them fall deadly quiet. Truthfully, she had stopped caring for the jousting as soon as Bran and Ben had been defeated early on. Not even she herself had the opportunity to compete today, not after the Prince had found her in the Godswood the night beforehand. They were all only still in the stands because Benjen was excited to see the victor of this tourney. 

Lyanna was sure Robert would rather lick his wounds somewhere with a woman, after being defeated by the young Jaime Lannister earlier. 

Brandon had never cared for jousting anyway, much preferring to hold a sword than a lance. 

And Lya herself would rather be in the north, than sit another day in the stands at Harrenhal, sweating in the horribly unpractical southern fashion. If she had a choice, she would rather sit upon her horse racing along the countryside near Winterfell with Bran than spend another minute in Harrenhal. 

She had been looking forward to the Tourney at Harrenhal. Kind, lovely Bethany Bolton had told her the South was wonderful, for she had been taken there by her husband after their marriage. Oh how Lyanna missed Bethany, her dearest friend in the north. What she would give to have her here now, a fellow woman of the north beside the stuffy women of the south, to keep her company. 

Lyanna did not enjoy the South. Not the heat, not the people and especially not the Southerners with their stupid curtseys and strange customs. 

She looked when Brandon hissed her name, staring at the crown of blue winter roses on the tip of the unbroken lance, the Crown Prince was holding out towards her. 

The crowd tittered and Lyanna stared at the Prince in confusion. Nodding at her, he tipped his lance just enough the flowers fall onto her lap.

Why? Why would the Prince do this? Why would he name her – Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, betrothed to Robert Baratheon – his Queen of Love and Beauty. She gripped the roses tight, ignoring the pain that blossoms nearly instantly, and refused to look up at the crowd, who were still silent. 

“How dare he.” Brandon hissed and his fingernails dig into her upper thigh as he holds her aplace. She looked over at him and inhaled sharply. She hasn't seen Brandon this enraged since, well, ever. He had not even been as enraged when their father had announced his betrothal to Catelyn Tully and that fury had ended with the destruction of much of the Trees near the Winter Garden in Winterfell. 

Martyn and Rodrik Cassel both grasped Brandon on the shoulder and held him down. 

Her father looked stricken, as if in his wildest dreams he could not have believed this, staring at the wreath on Lyanna's lap. 

Even Eddard, calm and quiet Ned, was fuming. He too watched Brandon warily, but the main focus of his wariness lay on Robert. 

Robert's fair skin had turned bright red and he sat at the edge of his seat, glaring at the way the Prince had gone off to. He suddenly turned to Lyanna. “What did you do?” He hissed at her, spittle flying across their seats. 

Lyanna's gut dropped. He think she? This was typical, Lyanna thought angrily. “Me?” She snarls back at him and Robert's face twists. Her heart races, in a mix of excitement, shock and anger. 

Even Ned, sweet Ned, looks surprised. “Do you really think...” He trails off. He looks at her for a second. All he says is “no” and Lyanna frowns. Ned is her brother! He should believe her not some stupid boy from the stupid Stormlands. 

“You are stupid, you stupid...” Lyanna trails off as Benjen grabbed her hand and pulls her up. 

“Let's go Lya.” He says, shooting Robert and Ned a withering glare.

All together their party left the stands. Whispers and points guide their way away from the stands to their tents and Lyanna feels so helpless. She cannot drop the flowers – that would be an insult to the Prince and the royal family. She cannot keep the flowers – that would spur the rumors further. 

Just before they turn the corner of where the stands can still see them, Lyanna looks at the flowers one last time and drops them on the floor. She couldn't care less about insulting the royal family. The Prince made a fool of her, her family and all of the north. Why would she care about his stupid feelings?

She catches Brandon look at them. They look at each other for a moment, but Bran nods and grabs her hand tightly. His thumb rubs across the ridge of her hand and Lyanna sighs. At least Bran and Ben stand by her side. 

“Lyanna.” Her father says just before she wants to duck into her tent. “Lya. Keep your head down. We do not need you to shame us, our family and the north.” 

Lyanna frowns. “I never -” 

Rickard sighs. “I know that, little Lya.” He touches her hair where the curls escaped her braid and sighs. “You are so like your mother.” 

Both Rickard and Lyanna flinch. Even Bran, who stands behind their father, looks surprised and Ben looks gutted as they all stay silent for a moment. 

Lyanna had only been 7 years old when Lyarra Stark had died, Ben younger than that. Since that day Rickard Stark had scarsely even said her name, grief clouding his view, even of his children. He had sent Eddard and Brandon away, his two elder sons, and had left the raising of Lyanna and Benjen to his mother and goodmother. 

“Lyanna. Southerners like to gossip. They talk and they judge and they are not like us.” Rickard said softly, still touching her hair. “They will call you his whore and a slut and perhaps even his mistress. You mustn’t let anything get to you. The prince made a mistake. You mustn’t let that defeat our family.” Rickard looked over at his sons and Robert, who stood a little offside. “That goes for you as well, boys.”

“But father, he...” Benjen started. 

“Robert. Please join me in my tent.” Rickard interrupted and he disappeared into his tent. 

Robert moved to follow him, but stopped in front of Lyanna. “Lya. I never meant … I trust you … Lya, I love you.” 

Lyanna did not look at Robert in fear of striking him. No matter how much he claimed to love her, he had still thought the worst of her for a moment at least. With a sigh, Robert follows Rickard into his tent, realizing she would not speak with him. Lyanna lets out a breath she did not even know she was holding. 

“Think of your honor, Lya.” Ned said quietly, running one hand over her hair. He looked at her for another moment and stepped away. 

Lya frowned at him. Honor. What did honor have to do with anything? Damn Ned and Jon Arryn and their stupid “as High as Honor”. It wasn't her that had dishonored her. It hadn't been her who ignored the Crown Princess and it hadn't been her who gave her the crown. That had all been the stupid Prince.

“Come on, little foal.” Bran grabbed Lyanna's hand again and tugged her away, off to the godswood. Benjen followed them at a slight distance. 

People standing around the tents tittered at them as they walked past, but Lyanna gritted her teeth and kept her head high. Her father was right. Southerners were idiots, but that was no big surprise anymore. 

Howland Reed was sitting in the Harrenhal Godswood, in front of the heart tree. He looked up as they entered and smiled at them. “Lya.” He said softly and touched his heart. 

“Howland.” Lyanna smiles at her new friend. It was too rare Lyanna was able to meet new people and Howland was so kind and a truly great friend to her and the Starks. He reminded her of home, or at least of what she knew. He was a comfort in this strange south. 

“I can punch him for you, if you'd like.” Brandon says suddenly. “The Prince.” 

Lyanna rolls her eyes at him and punches his arm lightly. “You heard father. We do nothing. It doesn't matter anyways. We will go back home soon and no one will care anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please Review if you liked this and would like to see this continued
> 
> This will probably (very probably) be continued, but i do not have the time to continue it yet, but i am proud of this, so I'll post it as a Oneshot first. If i continue it, I will add the chapters to this.


End file.
